It has been an agonising week for those of us who yield to no one in our admiration for Premier League chief Richard Scudamore's visionary stewardship of his "product". Who knows why whispers must dog him at every turn, but after Chelsea's crushing of Blackpool – a match that achieved classic Premier League excitement levels for the full first minute and 13 seconds of play – the charges of systemic malfunction have once again surfaced.

Yet if we might presume to steer Richard toward an untapped resource, is there not one sense in which the Premier League may consider itself truly competitive? I speak, of course, of the electrifying weekly displays from its various managers, which could surely be celebrated with some kind of parallel competition. Just as Formula One runs both drivers' and constructors' championships, so the Premier League 2011-2012 should see the inaugural season of The Plonkership, in which managers would receive points for witlessness, disingenuousness and babyishness displayed during everything from media outings to interactions with fourth officials.

Looked at this way, the Premier League remains a genuinely tight-fought contest. Perhaps it is something in the water of this septic isle – though most of us lack the timeworn and complete immersion in a range of footballing cultures to be able to make that call. But while claims the Premier League is the best league in the world are contentious, the idea that it showcases the greatest range of managerial prattishness would surely be less so.

For an ambitious mid- or even bottom-of-table blowhard, there is everything to play for in this alternative title chase. With Alex Ferguson appearing to have mellowed in recent years, and Carlo Ancelotti seemingly incapable of the baroque silliness of a Wenger or even a Redknapp, Big Two dominance doesn't exist.

Consider the banquet of riches laid before us in recent days. We've had almost a cricket score from Blackburn's Sam Allardyce, whose come-and-get-me plea to Real Madrid coincided with a scoff at his so-called rival Arsène Wenger. "Is Arsène more advanced than me in terms of coaching?" he honked. "Not a chance. Does he use live fitness data on his players during games? Does he study sports psychology every day? Does he use sports science to the extent that I do? I doubt it."

Mm. Sam does have a poignantly self-defeating way of putting other people down – I once had a conversation with him in which he challenged me to ask him a cricket question, in the interests of proving his theory that birds know nothing about sport. I obliged with something about off-spin in the modern game, which he answered at chortling, head-shaking length with extensive reference to Shane Warne, apparently unaware that the latter was a leg-spinner. Bless.

But back to the thrills of the Plonkership, and the aforementioned Wenger's eerie determination to immature with age. Though he is now in his seventh decade, the Arsenal manager seems to be regressing so markedly into babyish behaviour that we might style his journey The Curious Case of Arsène Wenger, after the Benjamin Button movie in which Brad Pitt is born as an old man, and ages backwards. Saturday's display at Sunderland suggested that though Wenger may yet not die mewling and puking on Cate Blanchett's knee, there is an excellent chance that he will soon be literally throwing his toys out of the pram in which he is wheeled into his technical area.

So the Plonkership could be just the tonic the Premier League needs – though that clearly depends on it being covered in a way that conveys its drama and excitement to fans. Which brings us to a neat solution. In light of another outcry currently "rocking" football, perhaps coverage could be anchored by Alan Shearer? Shearer, you may be aware, has taken some flak for his performance on last Saturday's show, during which he explained that no one really knew much about Hatem Ben Arfa, despite the fact that the Newcastle winger has been capped eight times for France.

Yet rather than giving Shearer the elbow – poetic justice though that would be – MoTD bosses should surely ghettoise him in his own branded section of the programme, a bit like "Lorraine", Lorraine Kelly's show-within-a-show on Daybreak (GMTV as was). Known simply as "Alan", this segment of MoTD would see Shearer slouch in front of footage of the week's managerial lowlights, before adding his invaluable analysis and giving viewers a look at the updated Plonkership table. After all, unlike the background of established footballers, self-regarding twazzockry is an area in which Alan could be always be deemed meticulously prepared.